


Armies and Agents

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Ab Aeterno [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Curses, Detective Stiles, Grad Student Scott, Immortality, M/M, ProScott, Reincarnation, Revolutionary War, Serial Killer, Spy Scott, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the winter of 1777, two young men track a dangerous killer to an enemy camp. One dreams about revolution and freedom, the other about revenge. It's time to put an end to this game, but Scott may have to give up more than he bargained for to get what he wants.</p><p>In the present day, the dead have risen and Stiles is NOT OKAY.</p><p>A part of Ab Aeterno, a love story across lifetimes and throughout history between two idiot best friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armies and Agents

Scott crouched in the bushes by the side of the road, breath coming in white puffs in the cold air. He shivered even under his heavy coat. The Pennsylvania winter was bitter and he wrapped his scarf tighter around his face to keep his nose from freezing. The road was empty in both directions, but they’d been told the rider was coming this way and it was critical that they intercept his message before it reached its destination.

General Washington’s troops were wintering in Valley Forge and conditions were harsh. The last time Scott had seen the Continental Army before leaving for his mission, too many young men had starved to death or succumbed to the freezing conditions. Rations were low and morale was lower, it would be a miracle if any of them survived until Spring when all they had to look forward to was being cut down by a line of Redcoat musket fire. Out here in the wilderness, he was at least one less mouth to feed on already strained rations. The hunting was slim, but he managed to track enough game to survive. It was better to be on his own than relying on the supplies of a dying army.

He glanced over at his scowling companion, just as uncomfortable in the cold as he was. No matter what, he would survive this winter, but he had to be careful with Stiles. It was easy to lose track of basic needs when the mission was so important. He was starting to forget that those around him were more fragile, more human. Stiles couldn’t survive the way he could.

The sound of hooves on hard packed dirt sounded down the road and both young men held their breath as the British messenger thundered closer, pushing his horse as fast as he could. They waited until the last possible second before snapping the rope taut across the road. Rider and horse went down hard, the beast slipping on the ice to regain its footing as Scott and Stiles emerged from the bushes with their rifles drawn. “The letter.” Scott said without preamble, holding out his hand.

The younger of the pair kept his expression stern, despite his chattering teeth and racing pulse. He waited until after they’d bound the soldier to a tree and Scott checked his tired horse for injuries before letting out an embarrassingly proud cheer. “Did you see that?! Did you see that!”

A militia man with a dreams of glory on the battlefield, but most importantly freedom, Stiles had been immediately taken by his companion. The mysterious Spaniard was hounded by all sorts of bizarre and frankly uncomfortable gossip, but he was a good fighter. Scratch that, he was an incredible fighter, who apparently had no trouble binding a Brit to a tree in the middle of winter, practically by himself (not that Stiles wanted to discount his own contributions; he held the rope). Scott just seemed a little distant to most other people, or at lot distant, but that was okay. Stiles could never take no for an answer, and it was getting him through the cold, cold months.

“That’ll serve that redcoat right!” He beamed settled behind Scott on the journey back to camp. He had half the mind to reach into the other man’s pouch to see what they’d gotten. Like he’d read his mind, Scott scowled over his shoulder, but otherwise, remained quiet. “And you just left him there! That’s _cold._  Get it? Cold, because… Frost bite’s terrible?”

Scott’s scowl intensified. “He can escape. He has a fair chance of finding shelter.”

“Are you kidding? No one could get out of that!”

“I could get out of that.”

“Yeah, but. Well.” It was some disgusting arbitrary temperature in Fahrenheit, but Stiles still pinked under his scarf. “You’re you.”

Scott gave the other man a look, humor dancing in his dark eyes. He hadn’t meant to find Stiles again, but his best friend had always been determined. He’d stumbled on the young man five years past when he was just a lad of 15 and had tried to pick Scott’s pocket in a pub in Boston. He’d almost thrown the boy out on his ass, but something about the amber gold eyes had caught his attention. There’d been some sense about him that was familiar, the way mischief gleamed in his eyes and the arrogant set of his jaw beneath all the scruff and grime. He’d been an unrepentant little thing and Scott could remember the trouble Stiles had dragged him into back when they were both so young with the same proud smirk.

God, that was so many years ago. He’d been old for so long that it had all started to fade.

Try as he might, he couldn’t leave Stiles behind. Not that Stiles would have listened even if he wanted to. The boy was stubborn and dedicated, so Scott reluctantly took him under his wing. Better to train him and give him a fighting chance than to cut him loose in a wild country poised on the edge of war. When he’d joined General Washington’s call for soldiers, Stiles had followed him into the Continental army without hesitation, ready to fight for glory and for freedom with the rest of the idealists under the colonies’ new banner.

Scott didn’t much care about new countries or battles. His interest in this war was much bigger than that. He cracked the seal on the letter, scanning the list of troops to be moved north with the latest shipment of supplies to the encamped British forces for the one name that mattered.  _Theodore Raeken_. “There you are, you bastard.”

Stiles tried to crane a look over the other man’s shoulder, his lips pursed in a thin line. For a second, his grip tightened around Scott’s waist, but his best friend ignored him. Stiles hadn’t questioned when Scott volunteered to intercept intel from their enemies, but he should have known this would have something to do with that  _business_ Scott was always dealing with. In all the time they’d known each other, Stiles couldn’t figure out what that business was, and he’d tried, many, many times. Scott had walked into his life and changed it by simply being there like no one else had, and Stiles wanted to help him. He just didn’t know how. All he knew was that Scott was looking for something important. Before the war started, there were times Scott would disappear for weeks at a time. He’d always give Stiles warning, but that didn’t keep him from worrying. Sometimes, he wondered if even joining this cause had been part of that strange business.

“Got what we came for?” He asked, tone aggressively chipper, but any attempt to keep his cool was lost with an angry squawk the moment Scott tried to wiggle away. 

“I’m going to drop you over the east knoll, and you can make your way back to camp. Give this note to the Lieutenant. I’m going to need you to cover for me, just for a little while. I’ll be back soon.”

“No!” Stiles meant it to sound more forceful instead of a petulant whine and cleared his throat, dropping his voice lower to try again. “No, you’re always leaving me behind when you do things like this. I’m a man and your partner, when are you going to start relying on me?”

Scott looked at his friend who scowled back at him, face scrunched up with irritation and the cold. They’d met when Stiles was so young, it was hard to see him as anything but a naïve innocent. He’d seen Stiles as an old man, as a vicious killer, as a gentle and possessive lover, but it was rare when he could keep the world from ruining him so quickly. This was his fight and the sooner he could track Theo down, the sooner the two of them could finally have peace again.

The murders had started again only twenty years ago. They ranged up and down the colonies, corpses with their eyes cut out and left where they’d be found. It was for his benefit, Scott knew that now. Theo liked the game of cat and mouth, luring Scott in close and taunting him to chase. He’d tracked the killer through growing cities and through the wilderness of this new country, but Theo was always one step ahead. Scott was tired of the hunt, it was time to end things once and for all if only he could get to him before Theo’s unit met up with the rest of the British forces. It was the best lead he’d had in months and it was too dangerous to drag Stiles into.

“I need you to report this back to the Lieutenant as soon as possible, troop movements are vital and it could save lives. I’ll meet up with you when I’m done.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out from under his ratty tricorne hat. “You’re not getting rid of me. Your fight is my fight.”

“Look, Stiles, you’re - you’re a kid, and I love you very much, but maybe when you can grow your own facial hair, we can have this conversation again.”

Scott knew he’d made a mistake the moment he’d opened his mouth. Stiles looked livid, and such an overwhelming wave of nostalgia hit him, Scott wasn’t sure how he was still in one piece. Stiles grabbed their horse’s reigns, face splotchy with anger, pressed tight against Scott’s back. Scott knew a thousand ways to knock him over. Maybe he should have. 

“Listen, you lily-livered prick. There’s no way I’m letting you do this alone. So you take me, or I’ll beat you until you do. I’m twenty years old, Scott. I’m not a kid anymore. I can help.”

Scott tipped his hat lower, averting his gaze to hide a bitter smile. This was a mistake. He didn’t think about brash he was being, or how conveniently everything had fallen together once he’d reached the battlefield. He didn’t think about the biting cold or what pushing a tired horse would do. He didn’t think about keeping his best friend safe. He was running out of time.  For once, it was a precious commodity. 

“You’ll only slow me down, Stiles.”

“Then shut your goddamn mouth and ride.”

They traveled north.

The roads were mostly clear of snow, but they kept to the woods and picked their way carefully among the drifts. This was their greatest advantage, the British always thought this land was too wild and uncivilized. Scott loved it for how fierce and unforgiving it was. It was so far away from Kings and castles, all the lives he’d lived before. He might not have been able to outrun his curse or the boy at his side, but he could at least start over.

It didn’t mean his thoughts wouldn’t turn to that perfect paradise they’d created in the Caribbean, especially when the wind picked up and his body wouldn’t stop shivering. He could see flashes of the Fox in the young man beside him now, but it wasn’t the same as the Captain who had stood by his side and survived privateers, hurricanes, and food poisoning whenever Stiles insisted on cooking. He would have been content to stay for the rest of his eternity if he could, but the curse was unrelenting. Stiles got older and wounds refused to heal. One day he remembered everything and smiled at his King before slipping away.

Scott sailed away from the island the next day and never went back. He hadn’t settled anywhere since, hunting Theo for the past fifty years without stopping. It had turned into an obsession and even Stiles hadn’t been able to pull him back. Once he found a way to stop Theo’s rampage, then he could finally rest again.

He picked up the trail a few miles on, the heavy artillery wagons leaving tracks even in the hard frozen earth. Scott slowed his horse, gesturing towards the road silently to communicate his meaning as Stiles nodded. Two men against an entire unit would be suicide for anyone else. Lucky thing he couldn’t die. The same couldn’t be said for his companion.

Stiles carefully dismounted the horse, nearly losing his balance, but he kept close to the ground. He fastened his bayonet in his rifle, his features set in determination, yet he had barely gotten two paces before Scott nudged him on the shoulder and held out a dagger he’d hidden in his boot. The younger man froze, carefully securing it to his belt. 

“Be car-” Scott was already riding off, but Stiles said the words to him again. He couldn’t lose Scott, especially not like this, to some miserable quest that he only half-understood. Someday Scott would realize he had him for every step of the way. He’d loved Scott for a long time, quietly (and not so quietly), and subtly (and not at all subtly) hiding his affection for his best friend, never dissuaded by Scott’s apparent disinterest. Because he was a man now, and he was certain, if they’d just met a little later, Scott would be all over him. Stiles was also certain, that if they’d met later, he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he had. He knew there was something wrong about it, something sick feeling the way he felt for another man, but it was Scott. It was always Scott.

He grit his jaw and trudged down the frozen forest paths on foot. As militia men, they knew this area well, and they were confident the Red Coats wouldn’t try to stray far from the main trail. Scott would draw their attention. Stiles would be the knife in their backs. Stiles moved quickly, he had to cross a freezing river and a barren knoll. Most importantly, he had to get there in time to make Scott’s distraction count. 

It was a simple plan. Scott’s was even simpler. He was going to watch them die.

There was power in knowing that nothing could harm him. There was desperation in the temptation of his goal. As he neared the Red Coats caravan, he dismounted, hurrying quickly ahead on foot only to be met with the muzzle of five riffles.

“HALT!” The nearest Red Coat ordered, something like a smile tugging on his face. 

Scott didn’t listen. 

His lips peeled back in a cruel mockery of the soldier’s smile. They weren’t afraid of him yet, but they should have been. He was the Ghost, the most feared pirate of his day. He had been shaped by loss and sharpened by pain. Theo had created a monster that would finally be his undoing. Anything was worth it as long as it meant finally bringing his enemy down.

Scott whirled, drawing his sword and his pistol smoothly. The soldiers were too slow to react and the acrid bite of gunpowder filled the air as he shot one of the men in the chest, knocking the rifle from another’s hands with the hilt of his sword before smashing it into the Brit’s face with a crush of bone and spray of blood. The remaining men struggled to regroup, rifles too long for close combat as Scott pressed in beyond their guard. He made it quick at least, there was no need for them to suffer. He was efficient but not cruel as he cut them down.

Five men against one had seemed overwhelming odds, but Scott had fought more battles than he could name and his immortality made him reckless. He didn’t even slow as the tip of a bayonet pierced through his ribs, grinding the barrel of his pistol against the soldier’s skull and shattering it with a single shot. He spat blood on the frozen ground and ignored the pain lancing up his side. The shots had drawn the attention of the rest of the company and he needed to find a more defensible position. Strike fast and strike hard, don’t give them a chance to regroup and definitely don’t give them a chance to run. This game stopped today.

Leaving the dead men behind him, he tore through the brush to circle his targets, looking for their supply wagon. Food, shot, gunpowder, everything both armies needed to survive this winter. He could capture it, bring it back to General Washington and give the boys at Valley Forge another week of hope…but their struggle wasn’t his concern. This was their war, his prey was more dangerous than an army or some distant king.

Scott watched the soldiers bark orders at each other, fanning out in all directions to comb the woods. He snuck through the makeshift camp and grabbed a lantern, lobbing it into the supply carts and dashing back to the safety of the trees. Clothes and wood quickly caught fire, but the explosion when the gunpowder went off brought everyone to their knees.

Flames swallowed the unsuspecting soldiers, and those who lived only did so long enough to notice the demon rising from the ashes. They were cut down before they could scream. Scott didn’t stop to see them fall, tearing through camp with only one goal in mind.

“Theo!” He roared, and only the crackling of burning wood answered him. “Face me! I know you’re here!”

Adrenaline raced through his veins, the taste of copper clinging to his tongue. He was so close. It was almost over. Everything was almost over. He stepped over the broken corpses of the King’s men like they no longer existed, ignoring the sluggish drip of blood down his side.

“COWARD! FACE ME!” 

But his answer came from a distance, a faint cry that echoed through his head, tugged at something sharper than his nerves.  _Stiles._

A flicker of movement across the clearing caught his attention, the figure that haunted his dreams and turned his every waking moment into a living nightmare. The last time he’d seen his husband, Theo had been struck by horror and betrayal. Scott wondered what would have happened if he took his eyes instead.

Now, he cocked his head, a teasing smile on his lips, and Scott’s grip tightened on his dagger. After decades of searching, Theo was finally within his reach. No matter what, Stiles would be reborn.

Scott gripped his blade, ignoring the cries for help behind him. Stay focused, Theo was the only thing that mattered and he couldn’t let himself get distracted. He snarled as he cut down another soldier, fighting his way towards his enemy like a man possessed. Theo only waited atop his horse for Scott to draw closer, taunting him even now.

“Scott _!_ ” The voice came again, hoarse with terror as Stiles screamed his name. He couldn’t stop now, Stiles’s death was a sacrifice they had to make to finally be free from this nightmare. He couldn’t go back for him, not when he was so close. “Scott  _please!_ ”

Scott’s arm dropped and he watched Theo smile, tipping his hat to him in an invitation. A challenge. Everything he’d been fighting for almost in his grasp. With a snarling curse, he fired his last shot at the man and took off running in the other direction. Snow crackled underfoot as he flung his sword away, racing back towards Stiles until his lungs burned with the cold. He never saw the way Theo laughed before turning his horse and calmly riding away from the chaos.

It had been a trap, of course it had. He should have known the moment he read Theo’s full name, more tempting than any bait. He’d been so caught up in his own need for revenge and to strike quickly before the opportunity was lost that he hadn’t stopped to consider the risks. Stiles clung to the edge of a wooden bridge that had been sawed through and weakened to break under the weight of anyone who tried to cross. In this cold, if he fell through the ice below, he’d freeze before anyone could save him.

“I’m here!” He slid to a stop, dropping down to his belly on the groaning, cracked wood and held his hand out to his best friend. “I’ve got you!”

It was a slow, arduous process. He pulled Stiles to safety with aching muscles, dragging his best friend into his arms, but once he was there, Stiles never wanted to leave. The younger man wanted to laugh it off, to pretend like nothing had happened, but his shoulders trembled, and when Scott tucked him under his chin, he almost collapsed in relief.

It took them too long to make their way back to camp. Beside him, Stiles was uncharacteristically quiet as they took in the massacre. It was one against over a dozen, but there was no mistaking how unfair the odds had been.

“Did you find it?” Stiles asked, voice barely above a whisper. “What you were looking for.” He kept his eyes to the ground, wary of where he stepped. Stiles was afraid, and in that moment, all Scott could feel was gratitude that he kept holding his hand.

“No… Not yet.” And as he looked around what was little more than a mass grave, Scott decided he wouldn’t, not like this. Not if it meant losing what little humanity he had left. He’d become a monster to hunt a monster, but there had to be a better way.

 

 

 

Over a hundred years later, in a modest one-bedroom apartment, after he’d been dead for over six minutes, Scott McCall woke to the same voice calling his name. His first thought was how much of a shame it was that he hadn’t made it to the kitchen; cleaning blood off tiles was so much easier than off of wood. And then the shrieking started.

“ZOMBIE!” 

Stiles flung himself backwards, scooting back on his ass and fumbling for his gun as he aimed it at Scott with shaking hands. Scott had been dead, actually dead, to death! He’d watched the man breathe his last, he knew enough about first aid to be able to tell when a pulse was gone. He’d felt his heart stop! He wasn’t going crazy! Scott had been  _dead_ , but now he was coughing hard and gasping for air. The bullet plinked against the floor and Stiles’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”

“Not… a zombie.” Scott groaned, flopping back on the floor with a thud and pressing both hands against his stomach. Gut wounds always hurt. Theo had wanted this to be slow. This was what he got for letting down his guard. He peeked his eyes open, face to face with the barrel of Stiles’s gun. “Whoa, just calm down a little bit, dude. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You were dead!” Stiles howled at the top of his lungs and Scott winced.

“And you broke into my apartment.”

Stiles sputtered at having the accusation turned back on him and watched warily as the other boy slowly pushed himself upright. “I was trying to save your life! I didn’t know you were a zombie.”

“Can you maybe stop pointing a gun in my face?” Scott asked with a crocked smile. “I promise I’m not going to try and eat your brains. I’d probably starve if I tried.”

“Hey!” Outrage replaced fear and the gun wavered, slowly dropping down to his side as Scott gave a quiet sigh of relief. “If you’re not a zombie, what are you?”

It was always the same question and Scott never had an answer. He gave a wheezing laugh and waved a bloodstained hand tiredly. “How about you tell me what you think I am?”

“ _Vampire?!”_

“Oh for God’s sake, Stiles!”

“DON’T EAT ME!” Stiles was approaching pitches only heard by dogs, and as Scott leveled him with a thoroughly unimpressed (and completely unsurprised) squint, he scooched until his back hit the wall, hands raised and fingers crossed in a lopsided cross. “Stay back! Stay back!”

Being a vampire was a thousand times worse than being a zombie. Zombies weren’t aware they were decomposing past their expiry date. Vampires were just unhappy for eternity!

Except Scott crawled closer and smacked Stiles’s hands away. The detective was kind of disappointed that his defense didn’t hold up. Scott groaned at him, shoulders hunching in on himself as he dragged his feet to his chest. “Just stop, okay?” He asked with a plaintive whine. It was unnerving how calm he was despite how they looked like they were on the set of a slasher movie. “I want some water. It still hurts.”

Stiles looked at him, then at his hands, then back to Scott’s pinched unhappy face. Then Stiles pointedly did not look at the blood stains on the ground as he pushed himself to his feet and headed into Scott’s half kitchen. His head spun. The urge to gag smacked him in the face, but Stiles busied himself searching for an empty glass. There was a dirty butter knife in the sink that he considered at for far too long, before reaching for the half-eaten muffin on the counter.

“Is this made of bloody maggot with brains?”

“… No, it’s blueberry.” Scott ate that slowly. Post-mortem hunger pangs were kicking in.

Stiles was almost completely certain he’d gone into shock.

“This is actually real, isn’t it?” It was more a statement then a question. “You really died and came back to life somehow.”

“It’s a long story.” Scott finished off the muffin and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m giving you an out. You don’t have to be caught up in all of this, it’s a mess and it could get you killed. You can go back to your life and pretend you never met me. I tried to tell you that you should just leave me alone.” He almost wished the cop would take the offer. Theo was already playing with him, anyone who got caught in the middle was going to be a casualty. His enemy didn’t care much for innocent bystanders.

Stiles just stared at Scott, fear warring with utter fascination. It would have been the smart thing to go, whatever was happening here was way out of his league and dangerous. But Scott looked embarrassed to have made such a mess and there was something in his stomach that twisted as the young man slowly started to clean up. He’d become a detective because he needed to solve mysteries and this was the biggest one of his career.

“Let me see it.”

“Huh?”

The cop gestured to Scott’s stomach who reluctantly peeled his blood soaked shirt up over his head, fingers smoothing over the small bullet wound in his stomach. The hole looked old as if he’d been shot a week ago and had already stopped bleeding. Stiles could swear he could almost see the edges healing on their own. He looked up into the other man’s eyes, pretty brown and so worried as if he’d decide to stay no matter the danger. Or maybe worried that he’d leave?

Stiles sat down in one of the rickety kitchen chairs and crossed his arms. “I don’t care if it’s a long story, I want to hear it all.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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